


Brighter Than Fireworks

by Please_Tommy_Please



Series: Brighter Than Fireworks [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fireworks, Fluff, Fourth of July, Friends to Lovers, Gally's secret brew, I have no idea how old everyone is, M/M, Mutual Pining, Overuse of italics, Sexual Tension, Sonya's middle name is Elizabeth and Newt calls her Lizzy, WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Please_Tommy_Please/pseuds/Please_Tommy_Please
Summary: Alby's annual Fourth of July party doesn't go as planned.Thomas isn't complaining.Neither is Newt, for that matter.





	Brighter Than Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Newtgitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtgitsune/gifts).



> Title idea credited to the lovely Faia Sakura!

The heat is blistering, even in a tank top and shorts.

“Oh fuck no,” he mutters under his breath.

The moment Newt steps outside, he can already feel the sun baking his skin.

“Newt, get your scrawny ass over here!” Minho yells. Newt flips him off and speed-walks over to the jeep. Chuck is sitting shotgun, Fry is behind the wheel, and Minho and Thomas are lounging in the backseat.

Newt slides in the back next to Thomas, who shoots him a grin so blinding, it’s damn near impossible to look at.

“Hey, Tommy,” Newt smiles, and pulls the bag on his shoulders into his lap. He’s got only a pair of swimming trunks, a towel, a change of clothes, and a deck of cards. And his phone and wallet, of course.

Chuck cranes his head around to look at Newt. “Hey! Did you notice Frypan and I took the doors off his jeep? It's a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

Newt quirks an eyebrow as he buckles his seatbelt. “Fry, you let him help this time?”

“Just showed him how to do it, is all,” Frypan says, backing out of Newt’s driveway and back onto the street. He turns the radio on and cranks up the volume.

Newt looks over to see Thomas’s mouth moving, but not hearing a word.

“What?” Newt shouts. Thomas leans closer to him.

“You know what I think is unfair?” Thomas says loudly, the whipping wind and music ripping his voice away from him. “The fact that I _always_ get sandwiched in the middle.”

“Maybe me and Min don't trust you enough not to fall out of the car.”

Thomas laughs right in Newt’s ear and shakes his head. “Thanks, ya dick.”

“It's gonna be a hot one today, boys!” Minho hollers.

“It already is, you twat!” Newt shouts in response, cupping his hands around his mouth and leaning forward past Thomas to be able to see Minho.

Minho reaches forward and taps Fry on the shoulder. He yells, “Hey, who’s all gonna be there this year?”

Fry turns down the volume on the radio so he doesn't have to shout. “Dunno, man. Pretty sure most of the gang should be. Except Teresa, she's on vacation with her folks.”

They pull into another driveway a second later, and Newt frowns.

“Fry, I thought we were goin’ straight to Alby’s?”

Frypan sighs. “I wish. Nah, Winston needed a ride this year. He was still asleep when Zart, Clint, and Jeff stopped by, so they asked if I could grab him. Y'all are gonna have to make room somehow.”

Newt, Minho, and Thomas groan simultaneously. Chuck cackles from the front seat just as Winston steps out of his house.

“I only have a change of clothes, a towel, and a swimsuit, that okay?” Winston asks.

“Yeah, that's fine, Wins,” Fry says. “That's all ya need.”

Frypan turns to look back at them. “You guys gotta cram or somethin’.”

“Well, I don't want to fall out while you're driving, Fry,” Minho says. “Which means, the people on the outside are staying buckled up.”

Newt shoots Minho a glare and huffs out a breath. Minho grins at him.

“Okay,” Newt says, undoing his seatbelt. He taps Thomas’s arm. “Unbuckle.”

“What?” Thomas asks, startled. Newt can't help but to roll his eyes.

“Look, Tommy, I’d sit in your lap, but the issue with that is, I'm too bloody tall. So, get your arse up.”

Realization strikes Thomas at once. “Ohhh,” he says, “okay.”

He releases the latch on his seatbelt and pulls himself up. Newt slides sideways, right behind Thomas, and shoots Minho a look.

Minho winks.

“Okay,” Newt finally says, buckling himself, “sit.”

Thomas does. Sort of. He plants his feet on the floor, and only allows half of his weight to settle on Newt’s legs, holding himself up.

Winston climbs up into the jeep, buckles himself in, and Frypan is off once more, the radio blasting and Chuck whooping.

After about two minutes, Newt is already tired of the tension leaking from Thomas. He grabs him by the hips and yanks him down against him.

“Just sit _down. Sit_ ,” he growls into his ear. Thomas freezes momentarily, then relaxes all at once, leaning back against Newt’s chest.

Thomas twists his head and mutters out an apology so quiet, Newt barely catches it.

It's exceedingly hotter with a lapful of person, but Newt can't actually say he minds it.

Until they get out of town and the road starts getting rougher.

Frypan does his best, but there's simply no way to miss _every_ pothole.

They hit one, and Thomas, unrestrained by a seatbelt, bounces in Newt’s lap. Newt can't help but tighten his grip on Thomas’s hips in an attempt to keep him still.

Then they hit another one.

And another.

And another.

Newt feels his face beginning to redden and hopes to blame it on the heat.

Thomas shifts his weight, wiggling, attempting to sit more comfortably.

Newt grits his teeth.

They hit another pothole, and Thomas barks out a small laugh as he jerks forward, then back.

“Dude, Fry, are you even _trying_ to miss ‘em?”

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Fry says good-naturedly. “You know what, just for that, I'm gonna stop trying.”

Newt wants to cry.

“I don't think—” he begins, but Thomas shifts again, and Newt has to disguise the sound that pulls from his throat as a strangled cough.

Thomas tenses, as though to move again, and Newt tightens his grip on Thomas’s hips even more, fingers probably pressing bruises into his skin.

“Tommy—”

Thomas moves.

Newt pulls him back against his chest and, as a spur of the moment thought, snakes his arms around his waist as a makeshift seatbelt.

“Could you stop moving?” Newt pleads. Thomas’s stomach tenses beneath Newt’s hands, and Newt curls his fingers into the material of Thomas’s tee shirt. “ _Thomas_.”

“I just—”

“Hold. Bloody. _Still_.” Newt’s voice cracks.

Thomas stops attempting to move after that.

The paved road littered with holes changes to a gravel one, which is equally better and worse.

Newt tightens his grip around Thomas’s stomach and tries not to think.

They pull into Alby’s driveway behind three other cars already parked there. Newt peers over Thomas’s shoulder and recognizes them as Gally’s, Harriet’s, and Jeff’s.

Without the coolness of the wind, Newt immediately begins to feel too hot once again.

Frypan throws the jeep into _Park_ and drops the keys into his pocket. He checks his phone.

“Everyone, out,” he says, squinting at the screen. “Either go inside in the A/C, or out back. I gotta go start cooking the burgers and hot dogs.”

Minho undoes his seatbelt and hops out of the jeep, stretching his arms above his head. Winston and Chuck both walk to the house.

“Hey, Tommy?” Newt says quietly.

“What's up?”

“You can get off now.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , shit, sorry,” he rushes out, and climbs off of Newt and out of the jeep. He hefts his bag off the floor and onto his shoulder and makes for the house, red-faced in the summer heat.

The second the door shuts, Minho bursts into laughter. He shakes his head and points at Newt, holding himself around the stomach and trying not to double over with how hard he's laughing.

By Newt’s estimate, it takes somewhere between five minutes and five hours for Minho to calm down.

He wipes his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. Then snickers. “So Newt, how was your ride?”

Newt isn't even given the _chance to answer_ before Minho is cackling once more.

“ _Ride_ ,” he wheezes, “your _ride_ , Newt.”

“Eat a dick, Minho,” Newt huffs. He's more embarrassed than angry, but he still grabs his bag and ditches Minho by the car to walk up to Alby’s house.

Minho’s laughter chases him even after he shuts the door.

The air conditioning is _wonderful_.

“It's fucking hot as _balls_ outside, Newt!” Brenda walks up, smacks him hard on the shoulder. She's wearing a two piece bathing suit, and has a towel draped across her neck. “Hope you brought sunscreen, brother.”

He didn't, in fact. Didn't even _think_ to bring it.

“I'll be fine,” he says. “It's been hotter before.”

Brenda snorts and shakes her head. “You're crazy. Hey, come join us out in the pool. Winston and Thomas have already.”

Newt opens his mouth, but Brenda predicts his question before he can even ask.

“Chuck’s pestering Alby about the fireworks.” She grabs Newt by the shoulders without warning and steers him in the direction of the bathroom. “Now, _change_ , dammit. I wanna see you out there in ten.”

Newt rolls his eyes at her but knows better than to argue, because he knows he'd lose.

He changes quickly, ignoring the fact that he can hardly glance at his own pale reflection, and shoves his clothes and sandals into his bag.

“Newt,” Minho says, voice muffled through the wooden door. He bangs on it. “Dude, you almost done?”

“Yep,” he answers. He unlocks the door and steps past Minho into the hall. Minho looks him up and down and shakes his head.

“Dude, you're gonna get _so_ sunburnt.”

“I'll be fine,” Newt says defensively. Minho snorts out a laugh and slips into the bathroom to change into his own swimsuit.

Newt steps into the living room and is half-tempted to just settle in on the couch in the nice, cool air conditioning. The other half of him knows better and would prefer _not_ to be murdered by Brenda, thank you very much.

He goes outside.

Newt is immediately hit with sensory overload. The sound of screams and laughter mixes with the music and nonstop barking of Alby’s dog, Bark. The heat is sweltering and already, Newt is breaking a sweat. The smell of burgers on the grill is wonderful, and reminds him that he missed breakfast this morning.

The first thing Newt sees is Ben sitting high on Gally’s shoulders in the pool. Across from them, Sonya is on Harriet’s shoulders.

Thomas is standing between the two towers of people. He slowly moves toward the edge of the pool.

“Ready…. GO!” Thomas yells, and Harriet surges forward.

The cheering for either duo is near deafening, and Newt slowly walks over to sit in one of the camping chairs by the pool.

Zart is floating around at the shallow end on a small raft, watching the game of chicken unfold and cheering for Ben and Gally’s side.

Clint is also cheering for Ben and Gally, sitting on the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in and shielding the sun from his eyes.

Jeff and Winston are ignoring the match completely in favor of having a sword fight using pool noodles.

Frypan is up by the house, pausing every few seconds of cooking to look over.

Aris and Brenda are cheering on Sonya and Harriet. Newt cups his hands around his mouth and shouts.

“Kick him in the balls, Lizzy!”

Sonya laughs, which throws her off her game, which ultimately gives Ben the chance to shove her back off of Harriet’s shoulders.

“Ben and Gally win!” Thomas calls.

“Aww, I missed it!” Minho cries. Newt turns around in his seat to grin at him.

“Wanna do a round?”

Minho's smile is absolutely wicked. “Let's show them what they're up against.”

Newt takes a few seconds to find his balance up on Minho’s shoulders, nearly falling backwards once or twice.

This time, Ben holds Gally up, and the two teams stand across from each other. Once again, Thomas is the standing referee.

“Ready, set…. go, go, go!” he yells. Newt yelps when Minho leaps forward in the water, nearly losing his balance. He would've fallen off completely, in fact, if Gally wasn't there to collide with.

Newt shoves at him, deflecting Gally’s jabs toward his chest and upper arms.

He hears Thomas cheering his name.

“Minho, _drop_!” Newt yells.

Minho takes in a deep breath and plunges down into the water.

Now at a lower level, Newt is the perfect height to grab Gally's legs and fling him back off of Ben’s shoulders. Gally lands with a loud splash. Newt throws his arms up with a cheer.

Minho surges up all at once. Maybe if Newt had been expecting it, he'd have retained his balance.

But instead, he yelps and goes toppling into the water.

When he emerges, it's to the sound of laughter.

He pulls himself out of the pool and back into the chair. He ruffles a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it dry faster, and watches as Minho tries to coerce Brenda into playing.

“Hey.”

Newt glances over to see Thomas pulling up a chair next to him, but returns his gaze to the pool.

Thomas leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and Newt catches Thomas looking at him in the corner of his eye.

After a minute of silence between them, Newt can't help but tear his eyes from the new game of chicken (Minho and Ben versus Brenda and Gally) in favor of looking at Thomas.

Newt raises an eyebrow, both questioning and amused. “Well? What’re you starin’ at, then?”

“You.”

Newt’s heart leaps into his throat.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he manages.

Thomas licks his lips and glances away.

But now Newt’s intrigued.

“Tommy, what—”

“Yo, Jeff and I are goin’ to play corn hole!” Winston shouts over the music. “We need another team, who’s up for it?”

Thomas leaps to his feet and flashes Newt a winning smile.

“Come on, let’s go play.”

“Oh no, you know I'm not very good. With me on your team, you'll lose,” Newt says.

Thomas grabs Newt’s hand and pulls him to his feet. He grins.

“Well, I'll just have to throw good enough for both of us.”

* * *

Newt can barely breathe with how hard he's laughing.

Winston can probably barely breathe either, but for the reason that he's trying to keep from puking everywhere.

“Okay, okay! It wasn't that funny!” Thomas argues. Newt doubles over and staggers to his left, and Thomas has to grab him before he falls.

“You, you—” Newt hiccups. “You just fucking— y-you—”

“Winston, are you okay, man?” Minho calls. Newt struggles to get himself under control. He pushes off of Thomas and straightens up, unable to stop the small bursts of giggles from escaping his mouth.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Thomas,” Newt rasps, clearing his throat. “You fuckin’ _nailed_ him, mate. Winning point, too. I'm so bloody proud.”

Thomas shakes his head and looks at Winston. “I didn't _mean_ to! I just— my hand slipped, and he wasn't paying attention, and...geez, I really did hit him right in the balls, didn't I?”

Newt cackles.

“Well, I didn't think the bean bag would hurt that bad,” Thomas admits defensively. Newt fixes him with a disbelieving look.

“They're filled with hard corn kernels, Tommy. How ‘bout you go stand and let me chuck one at _you_ , and you might understand how bad they hurt.”

“Yeah, I would definitely rather _not_ do that,” Thomas says. He looks past Newt. “Hey, Winston! You good, man?”

Newt turns to see Winston very, _very_ slowly beginning to stand.

“Fine,” he calls, “but we’re totally having a rematch later!”

“Okay, that's fair,” Thomas agrees. “Whenever you want to play, come get us.”

“Cool,” Winston says, then winces. “Jeff, come with me inside, I need ice.”

Thomas snorts and turns to Newt. “Well?”

Newt frowns. “Well what?”

“ _Well_ ,” Thomas repeats, “do you wanna come with me to check out the fireworks?”

“Sure,” Newt shrugs. Already his hair is mostly dry, as is the rest of him, and he's beginning to get hot again. Going inside sounds spectacular at the moment.

They find Alby and Chuck and a pile of fireworks in the garage, in the bed of Alby’s truck, along an even larger stack of fireworks on the floor. The garage isn't quite air conditioned like the house, but still shaded. Newt can deal with it.

He peers over the side of the truck, eyes skimming over labels and packaging as Alby speaks.

“So I was just telling Chuck, I got all these one on the floor last year just after the Fourth, so they were really good discounts. The ones in the truck, I got last week.”

“Cool,” Thomas says. He perks up and looks at Alby. “Hey, whose turn is it light the last one ‘em this year?”

“Minho’s, I think,” Newt cuts in. “I did last year, and Gally did the year before that, so yeah, it's Minho’s turn.”

Chuck laughs.

Newt looks at him. “What's so funny, Chuckie?”

Chuck just shakes his head. “It's just, it’s kinda like ‘who gets to put the star on the Christmas tree’, y’know? That's just what I thought of.”

Thomas snorts. “Well, you're not wrong, little bro.”

Chuck shoots Thomas a dark look. “Yeah, well, you got to do that _two_ years in a row. Totally unfair.”

“I did _not_ , dude, you're makin’ that up!” Thomas argues. “We've talked about this. You did it two years ago, then it was _my turn_!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Chuck mutters under his breath. Newt is close enough to him the hear it, but Thomas apparently is not, for he drops the subject in favor of pestering Alby.

“So, what're we lookin’ at this year?” he asks. “Any _really_ good ones?”

“It's the same as every year we do this, Thomas,” Alby grumbles. Then perks up a bit. “I _did_ remember to get sparklers this year, though. And firecrackers.”

Newt shakes his head. “I never understood why firecrackers are so bloody popular. All they do is make noise.”

“They're _loud_ , Newt,” Thomas says, as if that explains it all. He then turns to Chuck. “I'm guessing you want first dibs on a sparkler?”

“Hell yeah!” Chuck says.

“Hell yeah,” Alby echoes, chuckling. “Okay, you got it, Chuck.”

Alby looks up from the pile of explosives to Newt, tilting his head. “What time should we start, d’ya think?”

“Actually, what time _is_ it?” Newt asks. Chuck works his phone out of his pocket to check.

“It is...twelve thirty,” he announces.

“Just, whenever the sun starts settin’, I guess. No reason to do it any sooner,” Newt points out. “And we're on for the bonfire after the fireworks, too?”

“Course, man,” Alby says. He sighs deeply and folds his arms across his chest. “Well, no sense in stayin’ in here any longer. C’mon guys, smells like Fry just about has lunch ready to go.”

“Yes!” Chuck pumps his fist into the air and races out of the garage. Alby follows soon after, leaving Thomas and Newt alone.

Newt kneels down on the floor to pick through the old fireworks and look at some of them, not quite ready to brave the stifling hotness outside.

He hears the scuff of Thomas’s shoes on the cement, and he sits down next to him.

“What're you doing?” Thomas asks, leaning forward to get a look. Newt shrugs.

“I don't really know,” he admits, brushing the thick layer of dust off of one of the packages to look at the description. He turns the box over in his hands and sets it back on the pile. “I just don't really feel like goin’ back out just yet. It's like bein’ in a bloody furnace out there.”

“Well, you're not wrong,” Thomas says. He scratches his stomach and leans back on his palms. “But wouldn't it be smarter to go in the house that has, oh, I don't know, air conditioning?”

Newt glances at him. “Oh shut it, Tommy.”

“Make me,” Thomas taunts, sticking his tongue out at him.

For a brief moment, Newt actually considers it.

Then he brushes his dusty hands off on his swim trunks and stands, offering Thomas a hand up.

Thomas accepts, using Newt to pull himself to his feet.

Newt releases his hand, but lingers, fingers grazing the back of Thomas’s hand before pulling away entirely.

He clears his throat.

“So. Inside?” he proposes. Thomas gestures in front of them.

“After you, my good sir.”

Newt shakes his head, but goes first anyway. “Wow, what a gentleman.”

“Hey, that's just how I am,” Thomas shrugs. “No need to be jealous.”

Newt can't help but to laugh. “I never said I was jealous, ya prick.”

A thought strikes him, and Newt exchanges his plan to hide inside in the cold air for an even better one.

“Actually,” he says, stopping in his tracks so abruptly that Thomas nearly runs into him, “I think I want to go swim. You game?”

“Of course,” Thomas answers, so quickly that Newt wonders if he even actually thought about it first.

“C’mon, then. We can get food afterward.”

“Best idea you've had all day.” Thomas grins, and Newt’s heart leaps.

They find Clint and Jeff playing a game of corn hole versus Gally and Ben, with Chuck sitting off to the side with a paper plate loaded with food, watching intently.

Brenda is tanning, which doesn't take Newt by surprise whatsoever.

Minho is attempting to stand on one of the rafts without falling off, and Aris is nearly in hysterics watching him.

Sonya and Harriet are nowhere to be found. Newt makes the assumption that they're probably making out somewhere in the house, but then he spots the two of them lying on the trampoline together.

Frypan is still cooking, but also in a deep conversation about something or other with Alby and Winston, with the latter sitting on one of the coolers and holding a bag of ice in his lap.

Newt snorts at that as he walks over to the pool. He stands on the concrete at the edge and looks down at the water. The deepest the pool goes is seven feet, deep enough for even Newt, the tallest of everyone, not to be able to touch the bottom with his head above the water.

“So, Tommy,” Newt begins, turning to look at him. Thomas shields the sun from his eyes at squints.

“Yeah, what's up?”

A smile slowly creeps onto Newt’s face. “I'd apologize for this, but I'm not really that sorry.”

Newt presses a hand between Thomas's shoulder blades and pushes him forward. Thomas's releases a high-pitched, strangled yelp, and he twists around at the last second. One of his flailing hands manages to snag Newt’s wrist, and he yanks Newt into the water along with him.

The water is shockingly cold, and Newt panics for a moment, not having gotten a decent breath. He claws upward, spluttering and gasping.

“You bloody bastard!” Newt cries in outrage as Thomas surfaces, coughing and gasping. Newt coughs right along with him.

“ _Me_?” Thomas squeaks. He coughs again. “ _You're_ the one who tried to push me in!”

Newt pulls himself up to the edge of the pool and sits, feet dangling in the water. He sticks his chin up haughtily. “‘ _Tried_ to’? I managed perfectly well, thank you very much.”

“I literally pulled you in with me.”

“Slim it,” Newt grumbles. He pushes his sopping hair out of his eyes just as Thomas hauls himself out of the pool.

The blaring of the radio dims.

“Time to eat, y'all!” Frypan announces. He waves a spatula in the air and sets it beside the grill. He leaves the radio quieter, for which Newt is grateful. It's easier to hold a conversation when you can hear what the other person is saying.

This time, Thomas stands first and offers a hand to Newt. Newt contemplates not taking it, just to be petty, but by the time he thinks of it, he's already allowing Thomas to yank him upright.

Frypan gets his food first, as he was, of course, the one to make it. Alby goes next, then it's just a free-for-all on who gets in line the fastest. It doesn't escape Newt’s notice that Chuck got his food long before Fry’s announcement.

It makes him smile.

Thomas ends up in front of him, and he wields both of their plates while Newt adds a burger to Thomas’s, a hot dog to his own, and crisps to both of them.

“Do you want ketchup? Wait, ignore that question, of course you do,” Newt says, and adds the appropriate condiments.

He digs through the cooler to grab each of them a water, and they walk side-by-side over to the camping chair Newt had claimed earlier and the one Thomas had pulled over.

Minho joins them with a third chair and a ridiculously loaded hamburger. It's a wonder he can fit the thing into his mouth.

“So,” Minho says, after swallowing a large bite, “what's the plan? I brought Exploding Kittens. Or we could play Cards Against Humanity, I know Alby’s got that.”

“We could do Poker,” Newt chimes in. “I brought a spare deck of cards, and Alby’s got the chips I left here last time.”

“Personally, I'd be down for Cards Against Humanity, but Chuck wouldn't get it,” Thomas says. He lets out a breath. “Also, our parents would probably get mad if they knew I let him play it.”

Minho snorts. “They'll let him come to a Fourth of July party with _alcohol_ and _fireworks_ , but not play a card game?”

“I don't even know, man,” Thomas laughs. Newt sips at his water.

“You know,” he begins, thoughtful, “we could always just play Spoons.”

Minho slams a fist down on his knee, catching the edge of his plate and catapulting his Doritos all over Thomas. “I will fucking _dominate_ at Spoons. Spoons is my _shit_.”

* * *

They end up playing Cards Against Humanity, for the simple reason that Sonya doesn't want to play and agrees to occupy Chuck with showing him how to play chess.

* * *

Harriet ends up winning the first round.

* * *

Brenda wins the second.

* * *

Alby wins the third, and they all call it quits in favor of going back outside.

Newt and Thomas play their rematch against Winston and Jeff, and lose spectacularly.

Afterwards, Thomas departs to pester Gally for the “secret recipe” for his alcohol, and Newt and Minho get into a deep conversation about whether cats or dogs are the dominant species.

Once it hits six o'clock, Harriet takes off into town with Sonya and Aris to get the pizzas they all ordered.

They return a half an hour later laden down with pizza boxes, and Thomas and Newt end up with the task of settling up the long table to set them all on.

“You just pull the leg out, it's not that hard.”

“I'm _trying_ , Newt!”

“Here, just let me.”

“No, I've got it.”

Newt waits.

Thomas mutters something under his breath and steps away from the folding table, rubbing his eyes.

“You know what? Go for it.”

Newt bends down, grabs the leg of the table, presses the latch inward, and pulls the leg out.

Thomas gapes at him.

“You weren't pressing the latch, were you?” Newt grins.

“Wha— there was a _latch_?”

“ _Yes_ , there was a bloody latch,” Newt laughs. He shakes his head and points to the next leg of the table. “Try again, see if you can get it this time.”

He doesn't.

Newt ends up doing all four, to Thomas's extreme frustration, and Newt manages to snag a piece of pepperoni before weaving his way out of the mass of clamoring bodies attempting to get to the food.

Newt has his slice finished by the time Thomas staggers out with his own piece, shaking his head.

“They're literal _animals_ ,” he gasps. “I swear, I was about to be mauled.”

Newt shrugs. “Pizza will make you do crazy things, Tommy.”

Thomas squints at him. “That...makes _no_ fucking sense.”

Newt shrugs again.

Thomas pushes him into the pool.

* * *

When the sun is just beginning to set, Gally brings out the drinks. He makes the announcement that everyone was free to drink, aside from Alby, who would be lighting all of the fireworks, and Chuck, who is still very underage.

“You'd better take it easy this year,” Newt warns, nudging Minho in the side. “You actually have to light one of ‘em this year, and I don't want ya catching yourself on fire.”

Minho nods solemnly and gestures to himself. “I know. I'm too hot as it is.”

Newt swats him on the arm, and takes a jar of Gally’s proffered beverage. He slips over to the trampoline and sits, contentment seeping into his bones and etching a small smile onto his face.

“What's got you so happy? You start drinkin’ already?”

Newt holds the jar as steady as he can as Thomas clambers onto the trampoline, but some of the drink still manages to slosh over the rim and onto his hand.

“No, but I'm not gonna have much to drink if ya keep bouncin’ around like that,” Newt says. Thomas eases down next to him, close enough that their thighs and shoulders press together.

Thomas doesn't move, so neither does Newt.

“It was a good one this year,” Thomas says wistfully, looking over their group of friends. Newt jostles his shoulder.

“Don't be such a drama queen. Besides, the day’s not over yet,” Newt points out, and sips at his drink.

It's as disgusting as ever, but Newt has gotten accustomed to the taste enough to hold back a grimace at the flavor.

Thomas, on the other hand…

Newt nearly inhales his drink at the way Thomas’s face twists in disgust, and Newt’s throat burns as he attempts to swallow.

He gasps and coughs, eyes watering.

“Holy fucking _hell_ ,” he says, wheezing, “your bloody _face_.”

Thomas shakes his head and presses his jar into Newt’s free hand.

“I don't think I can do it. The taste is just…” Thomas shudders.

Newt nods, still hacking up a lung, and somehow manages to choke out a croaky laugh.

“I c-can't,” he tries, and coughs again. He takes a moment, clears his throat, and speaks. “You're going to be the death of me.”

Thomas laughs. “In a good way, though, right?”

“No, you're _literally_ going to be the death of me, shank _._ ”

* * *

Newt ends up handing both Thomas’s drink and his own over to Brenda, who has already finished her own and takes both without complaint.

“Hey Alby!” he calls, walking over to the garage. “Need any help?”

Alby hesitates, looking around. “Chuck and Minho and I can handle the fireworks. Oh! Do you and Thomas want to head inside and grab some blankets from the closet to sit on?”

“Sure, sounds like a plan,” he says, and claps Alby on the shoulder. He pauses mid-step and twists around. “Upstairs or downstairs closet?”

“Upstairs,” Alby says through a grunt as he shifts the fireworks in his grip. “The blankets downstairs are nicer, my parents wouldn't want them dirty.”

Newt nods and steps outside to grab Thomas. He finds him playing a very intense game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Ben.

He nudges Thomas’s shoulder. “Hey, Alby wants you to help me grab blankets for everyone from the house.”

“Okay, sweet. Ben, I forfeit. Guess that means you win,” Thomas says. Ben rolls his eyes.

“It's Rock, Paper, Scissors, dude,” Ben laughs, “no one _really_ ever wins.”

Thomas just shrugs and follows Newt into the house.

“Hey, how much time did you spend outside today?” Thomas asks. Newt snorts.

“Thomas, you were _with_ me most of the time. You know I was outside almost the whole time,” he says. Thomas looks him over and shakes his head.

“Dude, you're gonna be so _sunburnt_ tomorrow.”

Newt winces. “I don't even wanna think about it. C’mon, let's grab those blankets. And I want to change. I don't think we'll be swimmin’ again today.”

“Well, you never know,” Thomas points out as they begin their ascent up the stairs.

“Fair enough,” Newt laughs, “but no more pushing each other into the pool, yeah? We made a truce.”

“I'm over the whole being wet thing, yeah,” Thomas agrees. He glances around the hall. “So, where's it at? Also, I would like to say, Alby’s house is freaking _massive_.”

“Thomas, you've literally been here before.”

“Well yeah, but _still_.”

Newt smiles and gestures down the hallway.

“It's the second door on the left.” He frowns. “I think.”

Thomas barks out a laugh and starts down the hall, and Newt follows after him.

They reach the door, and Thomas pulls it open. Sure enough, it's the walk-in closet. In the dim lighting, Newt scans the shelves that are stacked with folded blankets. The room smells musty, but not necessarily in a bad way. It reminds him of the smell of old books.

“Is there a light for in here?” Thomas asks squinting and feeling along the wall. He must find a switch, for Newt hears the sound of it flicking up, but nothing happens.

“Bulb must be out,” Newt states. “No big deal, we can just use the light from the hall. It's dim, but it works.”

“Okay,” Thomas says as Newt steps into the closet. Newt is just beginning to debate which stack of blankets to unload first when the light in the room starts quickly dimming.

In the silence of everything else, the click of the door shutting is like a gunshot.

It's pitch black.

Newt turns, reaching his hands out to feel around him.

“Tommy?” he says, alarmed.

“I'm right here.” His voice is soft, but close, much closer than Newt would've expected. Newts fingers brush against the skin of Thomas’s stomach.

Newt swallows. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

“Why'd you shut the door?” Newt whispers.

Thomas doesn't offer an answer, and for a long moment, the only sounds Newt can hear are the soft exhales of their breath and the quickening thud of his heartbeat.

Newt has to force himself to take initiative, but he does it. He brings his hands forward. They knocks against Thomas’s chest, and Newt brings them up, knuckles brushing lightly, to settle on Thomas’s shoulders. He slides his hands upwards to cup Thomas’s face.

“Newt?” Thomas says, voice a hushed whisper, the same tone of nervousness that Newt had had before.

Newt’s tongue darts out to swipe over his lips.

Thomas's breath is warm against his cheek.

In the total darkness of the room, and overestimating just how short Thomas really is, Newt ends up planting his lips on Thomas’s chin, rather than his mouth.

Thomas starts to laugh, but the sound is quickly muffled by Newt’s lips over his, finding their mark this time.

Thomas is still laughing under his breath when Newt pulls away.

“Shut up,” Newt says good-naturedly.

“Make me,” Thomas fires back, almost immediately.

This time, Newt does.

* * *

“What took you shanks so long?”

“We weren't sure how many to grab,” Newt says, and it's at least, like eleven percent true.

He sets his armful of blankets on the ground. Thomas adds his own stack and immediately snatches the two on top.

“Dibs!” Thomas says, and he races towards the trampoline. Once he gets there he doesn't stop running, just uses his momentum to roll onto it. “Newt, get over here!”

Newt wants to roll his eyes, but he smiles instead and joins him.

“Here, help me lay these out,” Thomas says, fumbling with the blankets.

“Nah, I think you've got it all handled,” Newt says, waving him off. “You just do your thing.”

“Jerk,” Thomas whines.

“Drama queen,” Newt shoots back.

“Valid points, all around,” Thomas concedes, and starts unfolding one of the blankets.

In almost no time at all, they've got the blankets lain out on the trampoline. Thomas lies down on top of them and gives Newt the goofiest of smiles, patting the empty space beside him.

Newt lies down next to him, and for the first time, he allows himself to stare.

Thomas kisses him.

The fireworks start up ten minutes later. Neither of them notice.

**Author's Note:**

> What is chicken?  
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicken_fight
> 
> What is corn hole?  
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornhole


End file.
